


Restore to Factory Settings

by pertunes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pertunes/pseuds/pertunes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So they have this sort of - agreement, after that, that whenever Harry (or both of them, but, really, Harry) gets something new and he's lifting off, flooded with endorphins  and desperate as he presses his thumbs just this side of gently into his bandages, he can go to Zayn instead of his hand. (Tattoo and pain kink because I'm upset about <a href="http://i49.tinypic.com/1ysdg9.jpg">these</a> and especially <a href="http://c684645.r45.cf2.rackcdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/harry-styles-tattoo.jpg">this</a>.) (I don't know a fucking thing about tattoos.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restore to Factory Settings

Zayn sticks to his room for the night, scrolls through Twitter with his headphones in until he gets bored and asks Louis where Harry and Liam went off to for the evening. He gets back a string of eight misspelled messages, each with their own take on the spelling of tattoo, and the last one he's still trying to decode when he hears the key card in his door beep and Harry slips in, already rock hard in his stupidly tight jeans and pupils so blown all Zayn can see is black.

"Jesus," Zayn breathes, getting up from his chair. "Did you walk all the way back like that?"

Harry's eyes flash something, and he's moving for Zayn already, almost frantic. "No, not," he says, stopping when Zayn takes his mouth, swallowing his words. "Not 'til I was on my way up." He swallows, studying Zayn. "Thinking about you."

Zayn kisses him again, because next to singing with him onstage and sharing an affinity for tattoos, that's one of his favorite things to do with Harry, especially like this. He listens to him moan when he tilts his head back by his hair, pulling away. "You're high as a kite," Zayn says, tries to drawl and make it come out easy, but he's more than half hard himself, thinking of Harry squirming in the seat tonight, blissed out on the feeling of the the needle and waiting to come back to Zayn.

"What'd you get?" he asks, going to tug at Harry's shirt sleeve.

"Not, not there," Harry says, batting his hands away. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, one hand pulling the neck of his top low so Zayn can see the bandages on his chest. "I've still gotta wait a little."

The picture shows two birds, completely symmetrical on either side of Harry's chest, just below the 17 BLACK. Zayn's breath catches, just a little, and he nods to Harry.

"Yeah?" he asks, putting his phone away, because they never need approval from each other, but Zayn knows that feeling, of wanting someone to like what they see.

He pulls Harry back in again, going for his jaw this time while Harry skirts his hands up and down his sides a few times, feeling. Zayn feels that slight tremble, fingers shaking with anticipation and something else as they settle on his hips, and he remembers the first time, nearly a year now, that they did this, with Harry's shaking hands and frantic mouth.

It wasn't the first one, no, because Harry had been too excited about that one, eager to finally have it and slowly show it to everyone, but sometime after the second or the third, maybe even the eighth, Zayn can't keep track of them, Harry had walked back with him a little too wound up, a little too glassy-eyed for it to be the typical tattoo buzz he was used to. It wasn't difficult to pull him in and tell him he'd help sort him out, especially with the way Harry was pushing into Zayn, already so hard and moaning for it, like it was inevitable. He'd got him in his lap, a hotel bed behind a locked door and both their phones off, and Harry pushed his face into his neck immediately, sucking at the skin there and rocking his hips down.

"Hey," Zayn had murmured. "Don't hide." 

One of the most spectacular love bites Zayn had ever received - and that's difficult to say when you're in a band with Louis Tomlinson, but Christ, Harry's mouth - ended with a mumbled out, "'M not hiding," rushed into his neck because of the pretty persistent problem between them, but still slurred because it was Harry.

Zayn found his earlobe and bit, hard, smirking at Harry's gasps when he pulled him in closer by his shoulders, and said, "It happens, sometimes," and told him about the time he'd gone with Danny and almost had to lock himself into the parlor's toilet because he thought he was going to nut off right there in the chair, needle buzzing and black lines forming.

Zayn had never been more thankful that Harry fixated on his left arm as they ground their hips into the other's, hands working frantically at their pants to jerk each other off.

So they have this sort of - agreement, after that, that whenever Harry (or both of them, but, really, Harry) gets something and he's lifting off, flooded with endorphins and desperate as he presses his thumbs just this side of gently into his bandages, he can go to Zayn instead of his hand.

Harry pulls back this time, groaning loudly as Zayn goes for the spot by his ear. Zayn separates them long enough to pull his shirt over his head before he goes back, hands cupping at Harry's ass through his jeans to feel the length of him pressed into his hips while Harry tries to work his hands between them and get at their zippers.

"I could - I could blow you, if you want," Harry grunts. Zayn pushes his thigh between them to hear him gasp, watch him open his eyes and part his lips, tongue edging out.

"You probably need that more than I do." Zayn lets his hands trail down Harry's neck, feeling sharp collarbones and the jut of his neck, and Harry makes a strangled noise when he presses just above his chest that makes Zayn's breath whoosh out of him. "You're gagging for it, come on," he says, finally undoing Harry's trousers.

His cock is poking just out of his pants now, flushed red, and Zayn hears Harry's near-sob of relief when he gets his hand on him, stroking from base to tip, meeting stickiness and even more flowing out into his hand.

"You're - fuck," Zayn gasps. "You're soaked, Harry, fucking wet like a girl," and Harry whimpers, high and needy sounding that goes straight to Zayn's cock.

His hand keeps catching on the damp fabric until he pushes Harry's clothes down his thighs and he speeds his hand up. Harry's almost out of it, gasping wetly into Zayn's shoulder as he clings tight, fucking into his fist.

"Jesus, Harry," Zayn says and Harry moans back. "Think Liam gets off on it like this? You think he gets hard from that needle like you do?"

Harry's making aborted little noises, caught in his mouth, rubbing his face into the crook of Zayn's neck, eyes shut tight.

"Do you think he's with Andy right now like you're with me?"

Harry groans. "Please don't talk about Andy," he says, voice hoarse.

Zayn laughs, "Yeah, alright." He kicks at Harry's legs a little so he'll step out of his jeans and jostles his head with his shoulder. Harry finally picks his head up and Zayn runs kisses down the side of his face, letting him cling still. "Come on, you with me? Walk back with me now."

Harry nods, holding tighter as Zayn walks them backwards into his armchair, plopping down so Harry will climb on top. He kisses him through it, sucks on his tongue as Harry settles his knees beside Zayn's hips, holding onto the back of the chair.

Zayn takes him in his hand again, and he's still wet, precome dripping from his cock like Zayn's never seen, and he looks up to catch Harry's eye. "Like this, alright?"

Harry nods, lip between his teeth and his brow furrowed, concentrating on Zayn's hand moving. 

"You too, you too, come on," he babbles, hands flying to Zayn's pants and taking his cock out, matching his strokes to Zayn's.

He's too worked up to let Zayn get him out of his top, instead pushing it over his head with arms still stuck in so Zayn can at least run his hands along his ribs, up and down the quivering of his stomach to try and calm him.

Harry's arched over him, spreading frenzied kisses along Zayn's chest and up his neck and he sounds - his sounds, noises like they're being torn out of his throat as Zayn jerks him, chest heaving as his hips roll incessantly.

He's giving as good as he gets, stroking the way he's learned Zayn's likes it and when he thumbs under the head Zayn can feel it in his gut, coiling low and building.

He watches Harry's shiny cock head push through his hand, hot and heavy as he twists his fingers just right and Harry moans, sweet, wrecked. "Fuck, you're so hard, aren't you, you gonna come soon?"

Harry mewls, nodding frantically. "Zayn," he pants. "Zayn, fuck, Zayn-"

"Okay, okay," Zayn says, speeding his hand up. Harry's face is pinched, brows knitted togeher and flushed pink as he works to get there. 

Zayn reaches a hand up to his chest to just the top of one of the bandages, picking at the edge.

Harry nearly stops his own hand, head coming up worriedly. "No, don't, Zayn," he pleads, and Zayn hushes him, kissing him quiet.

"I'm not going to, don't worry, babe," he says softly. "They're too pretty for that, alright?"

It's the most warning he gives before he scrapes his nails along the edge of Harry's dressing, pressing in hard but careful, and Harry freezes, eyes squeezing shut as his back bows and his head falls to Zayn's chest, a guttural noise escaping from his throat and Zayn feels him between them pulsing hot and thick as he comes.

Zayn keeps jerking him as he shudders, slowly coming back to himself, trying not to jerk his hips up into Harry's slack hold. It takes a few minutes for his grip to tighten, leaning into Zayn's neck again, watching himself jerk Zayn off.

Zayn squeezes his arm around him to press him closer and it must be hell on Harry's legs all folded together for so long, but he doesn't complain, doubling his strokes and reaching down with his other hand to fondle Zayn's balls.

"Come on, come on, Zayn, let me see, I wanna see," he rumbles into Zayn's neck, sucking even more marks below his shirt line and it takes a few more strokes before Zayn's seizing up, white noise flooding his ears and muscles going taught as he comes all over himself and Harry's hand.

He finally opens his eyes to Harry curled up against his side, sucking at his fingers. Zayn groans as his cock gives one last futile twitch and he shoves at Harry.

"You should go get a flannel," he says.

Harry hums before he slinks off Zayn's lap, stretching out his legs and wincing a minimal amount. He slaps Zayn's wet stomach as he bounds off to the bathroom, laughing as Zayn curses after him.

Zayn takes the time to finally get out of his jeans, uncomfortable now that he's come and there's sweat pooling at the backs of his knees. Harry slaps him in the chest with the wet flannel when he comes, making Zayn squawk a bit, and then he cleans the mess on his stomach, heading back to the bathroom with a kiss to Zayn's forehead.

Zayn strips all the way off and follows him in, finds him at the mirror poking at the bandage on his chest, sated look on his face.

"When can it come off?" Zayn asks, touching up the place he'd torn at the tape a little. Harry squirms under his touch, bright eyed and loose-limbed now.

"Another half hour," Harry says through a yawn and Zayn runs a hand through his curls, tugging at the knots.

"Come lay with me," he says. "I'll get you up and we can take care of it then."

Harry nods, eyes drooping, and Zayn grips his hand as they go back into the room to sprawl on the bed and Harry falls asleep like that, tucked in close to Zayn as he flips channels, humming quiet little songs until he wakes Harry up again.

Then next morning they go down to breakfast together and listen to Liam chatter about his night out before he turns to Harry excitedly.

"Show them, show them what you got," he says, grinning, and everyone around the table makes sleepy noises of encouragement, Louis lifting his head sluggishly and Niall rolling his eyes at more tattoos.

The night before, Zayn had lugged Harry back into the bathroom and sat him on the counter, carefully removing the bandages and washing the birds as Harry had hissed and fidgeted above him, until Harry had insisted it was enough and sleepily dragged him back to bed where they'd fallen asleep on top of each other.

Now, Zayn leans in close, already smirking, and says, low, "Yeah, Harry, get your tits out for the lads."

Niall breaks into hysterics, dropping whatever he was eating back onto his plate, and Zayn grins back at him as Harry flushes just the slightest bit pink, rolling down the neck of his shirt to let them see.

Beneath the table, Zayn's foot finds Harry's, nudging him and tapping out a beat as Niall asks, "Well, what kind of birds are those?" and Louis rolls his eyes and they proceed to argue over the species for the rest of the meal, Harry and Zayn grinning between them.


End file.
